


Protection and Devotion

by LucRambles



Series: Sylvix Week 2020 [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (he lives tho dw), A little angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Major Character Injury, Pre-Relationship, Protection, it's the Miklan battle yall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26883061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucRambles/pseuds/LucRambles
Summary: Sylvain was always there to protect him. Now Felix returns the favor.It doesn't quite go as planned.Sylvix Week 2020, Day 3: Injuries/Healing | Protection
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Sylvix Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1933951
Comments: 1
Kudos: 77
Collections: Sylvix Week 2020 Fic Collection





	Protection and Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by my last Blue Lions run when I put Felix in front of a low-health Sylvain thinking he would dodge the hit, and he did not. I can only imagine how Syl would react to Miklan hurting his best friend who he's totally not in love with :') (The answer is he goes a little Feral)
> 
> Note: I didn't use the "graphic depictions of violence" warning bc it's not described in explicit detail, but Felix does suffer a pretty nasty wound. Continue at your own discretion.

Sylvain was strangely relaxed the night before the mission. The sounds around camp were almost meditative. 

The rain poured on the roof of his tent, a steady pattering of sound against the canvas. Steady, steady, constant and expected, falling down and down, drowning out any other thoughts. The only other sound, besides his own breathing, was the distinct ring of stone on steel as Felix sharpened his weapons. Each stroke of the whetstone along the blade evenly spaced, a steady rhythm to accompany the rain. The faint thought of _only Felix could make sharpening blades sound so soothing_ lazed through the back of his mind. But, as much as the sound was relaxing Sylvain, he wasn’t the only one who needed rest.

“Go to sleep, Felix,” Sylvain mumbled from his bedroll. “The Professor said we’re leaving early so we can get there by tomorrow evening.”

The noise stopped, breaking the rhythm Sylvain had gotten so used to. Yet it still rang in his ears. Felix sat in the entrance to the tent, flap pulled to the side just a crack to let in some light. He sat with his legs crossed and his back to Sylvain. A few weapons and a few more whetstones sat to his right, a pair of finely sharpened swords sheathed on the ground to his left. In the dark, Sylvain could just make out the outline of another weapon across his lap. The swordsman didn’t look up when he spoke. “Sorry. Am I keeping you awake?”

“No, no,” Sylvain said, turning a little in Felix’s direction. _You’re helping me sleep, actually,_ he didn’t say. “It’s just getting late. Or, it’s _been_ late. You need to get some sleep.”

“I’ll sleep once I’m done with these.”

“Felix, I’m sure you could cut a tree with those swords at this point.”

Felix snorted, but Sylvain could hear the slight smile in his voice. “You cut trees with axes, not swords.”

“Whatever,” Sylvain said and flapped his hand noncommitely towards Felix. “It’s the middle of the night, the thinking box turned off. I’m just saying your swords are really sharp. Like, _really_ sharp, y’know?”

Felix didn’t say anything, so Sylvain continued his half-conscious rambling. “Like, c’mon Felix, if you’re not training then you’re making sure those things are ready to go. All… all sharp and pointy n’ shit. Could gut yourself just looking at them.” A beat. “Swords sharp, I guess is what I mean. You keep them that way. Now c’mon, come lie down.”

The noise started up again. “Just go to sleep, Sylvain.”

Sylvain whined petulantly and poked the other with his foot. “Nooooo, c’mon. Swords sharp. Sleep need. Energy. Focus. Yada yada.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

Sylvain nudged him again. “ _S_ _leep._ ”

Felix shifted forward a little bit, just out of poking range. With a small sound of annoyance, Sylvain sat up, ready to wrap his arms around Felix and flop back down, but stopped when he caught sight of the weapon in his lap. “That’s… not a sword.”

“Huh, maybe you don’t need glasses after all.” Felix continued sharpening.

“I can see… just fine,” Sylvain said. “That’s… oh, is that one of my lances?”

If it hadn’t been near dark, Sylvain might have seen Felix’s face flush. “Yeah. I, uh, they were near my swords when I finished sharpening them. I thought I might as well, since they were right there.”

“Aww, you’re sweet,” Sylvain mumbled, falling forward onto Felix’s shoulder. The smaller man shrugged him off with a grumble of “I am _not_ sweet,” before continuing his work. 

“Just go to sleep Sylvain, I’m almost done.”

“No. Do that. In… in the morning.”

Felix opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a sharp yelp when Sylvain wrapped his stupidly big arms around his chest and let himself go limp, dragging Felix down to the bedroll with him.

“Hey! Let me go you big oaf,” Felix grumbled, trying to squirm out of Sylvain’s stupid strong grip.

“Mmm. No. Sleep.” The redhead pulled him closer, even tucking his face in Felix’s hair.

“Syl _vain,_ ” Felix said (he absolutely did _not_ whine, because Felix Fraldarius _does not whine)_ , but after a minute it was clear stupid big Sylvain and his stupid big arms and his stupid strong grip weren’t going to budge until he woke up. Felix let out an exasperated huff, before making himself comfortable and trying to sleep. 

It became clear the next morning that Felix hadn’t gotten enough rest. The ever-present bags under his eyes were deeper than usual, and his steps lagged ever so slightly. Most of the class didn’t seem to notice, but Sylvain had been around him long enough to. When asked, Felix just grumbled, “I’m _fine._ ”

“You can hop on Leanna for a bit,” Sylvain offered. “If I take one of her saddle bags it won’t be too much weight.”

“I said I’m _fine,_ Sylvain,” Felix grumbled. “Worry about yourself.”

Easier said than done, when Sylvain was prone to worrying about literally everyone else first. Including Felix. _Especially_ Felix. 

“If you’re too tired you won’t perform as well during battle,” Sylvain pushed. “You could get hurt.”

“Sylvain.” Felix’s voice was sharp. “I told you that I. Am. _Fine. S_ top worrying so much.”

Felix walked a little faster after that. Whether he was trying to prove something or get away from Sylvain, the latter wasn’t sure. Could have been both. He considered following him, to try again to get his friend to rest, but Sylvain knew that as hard as he pushed, Felix would always push back harder. It’s the way he is, to be combative. Telling him outright to do something (unless it’s training) was the fastest way to make sure he does literally anything else.

So Sylvain let him pull further ahead and hoped for the best.

They reached Conand Tower just after nightfall—though it’s hard to tell with the persistent rain. The stone grey storm clouds blocked the sun for most of the day, surrounding them in perpetual twilight. 

The march to the top floor of the tower wasn’t difficult, and they only ran into a handful of bandits on the way. Many of them fled up the stairs, hoping to have safety in numbers. Or just the protection of a Hero’s Relic.

Sylvain and Felix ended up beside each other, as they often did in battle, with Annette backing them up. She and Felix were good at quickly cutting down enemies, while Sylvain kept them from becoming overwhelmed. 

They had almost made it to the center room, where they knew Miklan was hiding and giving commands, when Sylvain noticed Felix flagging. It wasn’t hurting him—not yet—but Sylvain could see it, the half-second delay in his reactions. Enemy weapons came too close to hitting, strikes that Felix could have normally dodged with his eyes closed missing by a hair. His own strikes weren’t _sloppy,_ per se, but they were compared to how he usually performed. 

Sylvain was about to move closer to back him up when a new wave of bandits tried to flank them. He saw Mercedes almost get surrounded, so he changed course to get her out of there. 

Once she was safe and the reinforcements had been cleared out, Sylvain looked for Felix again. He wasn’t even conscious of the action—it was instinct, really, to know where Felix was on the battlefield. To know if he was in trouble.

An arrow flashed past him, far too close for comfort, grazing his horse’s side. She startled, rearing back and ready to bolt. Sylvain tried his best to calm her down, but he ended up thrown and on his back on the cold stone floor of the tower. All the air left his lungs on impact. He tried to get back to his feet, rolling to one knee, when he heard the shout.

“ _Move, you fool!_ ” 

A figure in front of him—two figures. Felix, in a protective stance before him, steel raised to block a strike that glowed red and orange. 

Felix shifted his sword, trying to catch his opponent’s weapon with the blade to disarm him. But his grip was off, his timing was a heartbeat too slow, and his own sword went flying instead. The swordsman didn’t have time to curse before the lance came down, slashing him from shoulder to opposite hip. 

Sylvain moved before he could think, throwing himself over Felix and getting his shield up just in time for the lance to come down again.

“Don’t. You. _Dare._ Touch him,” Sylvain growled.

Above him, Miklan’s grin was wicked. “Hmph. Looks like daddy’s little princess finally showed up.”

“I didn’t want to have to kill you, but I might have just changed my mind.”

“Of course you didn’t. You were always pathetic.”

The elder Gautier pulled back the lance for another strike, giving Sylvain just enough time to rise to his feet and bring his shield up again. He barely managed to hold on when the blow made contact, shockwaves reverberating through the shield and up his arms. Sylvain widened his stance and grit his teeth, focusing only on _not being knocked back_. _Protect Felix,_ he told himself. _Protect Felix protect Felix protect Felix._ Sylvain couldn’t care less if Miklan killed him—not like he hadn’t been trying for almost twenty years—but he couldn’t let the bastard kill Felix. The fact that he’d even touched him was enough to make Sylvain’s blood boil.

Sylvain adjusted his stance again, then shoved forward with the shield, throwing all of his weight behind it. Miklan stumbled back—not far, but enough, giving Sylvain just enough of an opening to slam the metal disc against the other’s head, knocking him back further. 

“ _Mercedes!_ ” Sylvain shouted as he took a few steps back and grabbed the nearest weapon—Felix’s dropped sword. " _Mercedes! It’s a code red! Code red Mercie! We need you now!”_

He allowed himself a half-second glance at Felix, just long enough to see the slight, rapid rise and fall of his chest. He was still alive, he was _alive,_ but he didn’t know for how long. There was so much blood— _so much blood too much blood too much too much—_ he just had to hope Mercedes would get to him in time, and do his damndest to make sure Miklan didn’t get any closer. 

Ahead of him, Sylvain saw his brother shaking off the blow. The older man spit out a glob of blood and barked out a laugh. “Is that the first time you hit me back? We’ve fought for years, but it’s that little brat that makes you fight back?”

“Don’t you dare talk about him,” Sylvain growled. “This was always between you and me. He has no part in this.”

Miklan lunged; Sylvain blocked and swung his sword. It glanced off Miklan’s armor with a _screech_ that made his teeth itch. 

“My issue _is_ with you, you ungrateful brat,” Miklan snarled. “But getting to put down another of your kind is almost as good.”

Sylvain slashed; Miklan blocked with the Lance. Sylvain kicked out, but the other wasn’t shaken. A jab came at his face; he barely brought his shield up in time. 

Miklan continued. “Your little boyfriend is just like you, you know.” Jab, block, slash, swing, block. “He’s got all he wants because of his Crest.”

“ _Shut up._ ”

“I know the other one had a Crest too, but he has a _better_ one, doesn’t he?”

“ _Stop._ ” Slash, punch, block, jab, elbow, pivot, block, jab.

“It’s too bad, really. The Duke could have kept at least one. But he sent the first off to die because his Crest wasn’t good enough. And I just gutted the other one.”

The sound that tore itself from Sylvain’s throat was almost inhuman. It was something feral and animalistic, a roar of pure rage and _hatred._ His attacks were harder, faster, any hesitation he had was gone.

He’s bruised and bloody and every part of his body throbbed with pain, but he kept pushing harder and harder, until he finally knocked Lance from his brother’s hand. Sylvain’s shield collided with the man’s head once more. As he fell, Sylvain drove Felix’s sword forward, throwing every ounce of his weight behind the blade and burying it deep in Miklan’s chest through a gap in the armor. 

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” Sylvain said. “Taking your anger out on me was one thing. But I won’t stand by and watch you hurt someone who doesn’t deserve it.” _Someone I love,_ was left unsaid.

The transformation began right before Miklan’s heart stopped beating. The Professor had to yank Sylvain back by the arm to get him away. Snapped out of his trance, he immediately turned to look for Felix. 

The swordsman was still laid out on the ground, the stone around him stained dark red. Mercedes and Annette knelt on either side of him. Healing magic glowed brightly from their hands, trailing up and down the man’s torso. Sylvain didn’t remember running over when he dropped down beside them.

“Is he alive?” He panted. “Tell me he’s alive, please.”

“He’s alive,” Annette said through gritted teeth. “Be quiet, we have to focus.”

“I—s-sorry. Is there any way I can help?”

“Finish the battle with the others,” Mercedes said. “We can’t move him on our own while he’s in this state.”

It took immense effort to tear himself away, but Sylvain managed to drag himself back to the battle. _This will help,_ he had to tell himself. _Sitting there doing nothing won’t help him._

The battle ended. The Lance of Ruin was recovered. Miklan and almost all of his bandits were dead. An impromptu stretcher was thrown together with a couple of lances and a pair of cloaks, knotted securely by Ashe and carried by Dimitri and Dedue ( _how ironic,_ Sylvain thought). Mercedes continued to heal Felix as he was carried, just barely able to stop the flow of blood from the wound. Sylvain followed close behind them. 

“We need to get him back to the Monastery as soon as possible,” he remembered the Professor saying. “Manuela has more training and proper supplies.”

“He can’t exactly walk or ride a horse,” someone argued.

“Empty the supply card,” the Professor ordered. “Mercedes, do you think he can make the trip?”

She hummed in thought for a moment. “In any other case, I would advise against it. But you’re right. The sooner we can get him back to Garrag Mach, the better his chances will be.”

“Empty the supply cart, then,” she said to the rest of the class. “It will slow the rest of us down, but we should be able to carry it ourselves. Mercedes, ride in the back of the cart with him. Sylvain, Ingrid, go with them.”

Sylvain pulled out of his trance a bit at the sound of his name. “Huh?”

“Ride back to the Monastery with Felix,” she told him. “You and Ingrid are our most experienced horseback riders. Go as fast as you can without killing Felix or the horse.”

“We will, Professor,” Ingrid said. “Come on, let’s move.”

The cart was cleared quickly, save for a cushion of pillows and clothing to lay Felix on, and most of their healing supplies. Ingrid mounted the horse first, and Sylvain gladly took the spot next to Felix. 

They made it back by midmorning, Felix still in critical condition, but breathing. He was the same way when Sylvain gently placed him on one of the infirmary beds before being promptly shooed out by Manuela. 

Sylvain spent the rest of the day sitting outside the infirmary. He couldn’t stop thinking about the battle. _Felix is in there because of me,_ he thought. If he’d been a little more aware, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten thrown from his horse. Or maybe he would have been able to block Miklan’s first attack. But he’d been thrown, and he’d been useless as Felix jumped in to protect him. And if Sylvain had gotten him to rest the night before, then maybe Felix wouldn’t have gotten hit in the first place. 

_It’s my fault it’s my fault dear Goddess please don’t take him please._

He couldn’t erase the image from his mind. He saw it every time he closed his eyes—Felix, limp on the stone floor of the tower in an ever-growing blood of his own blood, eyes glazed and sightless as they stared at the ceiling, dark red masses Sylvain refused to put names too just barely visible through the wound. Felix in the supply cart, completely motionless save for the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest, not reacting to anything, even when a particularly bad bump rattled the whole cart.

He looked up when he heard a sigh beside him. “I was hoping you’d at least get cleaned up, but I guess I’m not surprised.” Manuela stood in the doorway to the infirmary. Sylvain could see the exhaustion in her eyes, but her half smile was almost fond. Sylvain jumped to his feet.

“Did he make it? Professor please tell me he’s okay—” Sylvain tried to look past her, but she placed a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him back a step.

“Felix is alive,” she told him. “His condition is still a little up in the air, but I think he’s stubborn enough to pull through.”

He exhaled a heavy sigh of relief. “Can I see him? Please?”

Manuela paused, then sighed. “Alright, but only for a minute. After that I want you to go eat something, take a bath, and get a good night’s sleep. Come back in the morning. I’ll give you a check-up—do not argue with me, Sylvain Gautier, you look like you lost a spar with a boulder with all those bruises—and then I will let you see him again. Okay?”

Sylvain was painfully aware of how childish he sounded when he whined, “Do I have to?”

“Yes. Doctor’s orders.” She softened a little when Sylvain’s face fell. “Look at it this way—when Felix wakes up, do you think he’d rather see you covered in blood, dirt, and bruises, hungry and sleep-deprived? Or would he rather see you all cleaned up?”

Sylvain knew the answer. He wanted to argue—he didn’t want to leave Felix. But ultimately he sighed and agreed, and Manuela let him in. 

Felix was lying on a bed in the back corner of the room, just a couple of feet from one of the windows. He looked almost normal, Sylvain thought, with the blanket pulled up to his chin. His face was relaxed and he seemed to be breathing easier. His dark hair had been taken out of its bun and allowed to fan around him on the pillow. The navy locks still had dirt and blood in places, but even that didn’t look out of the ordinary (Sylvain had seen Felix nap after training _without bathing first,_ and he shuddered at the memories). It looked like his face had been wiped down, though. The only sign that something was amiss was how _pale_ he was (which was saying something, considering he could already blend in with Faerghus snows). 

“He’ll probably be asleep for a while.” Manuela’s voice startled him. “I gave him a pretty heavy sleeping draught to allow his body to heal. And I’ll be honest, when he starts waking up, I’ll probably have to give him another one. I really don’t feel like chasing him to the training grounds when he’s in this state.”

“He’s… he’s gonna be okay then?” Sylvain asked. He lifted one hand to gently cup Felix’s face, then trailed his fingers down to his neck. He held his breath and pressed down slightly, looking for… there! Below the skin, beating a steady rhythm, Sylvain could feel his friend’s pulse, and he sighed again in relief. 

“I don’t like giving definite yes or no answers with cases like this—it’s bad luck. But I do think it’s looking good for him.” She turned her attention back to Sylvain. “Now you, out. I don’t need anything stressing him out and you need to take care of yourself before fretting over him. If you’re fed, washed, and at least attempted to sleep by tomorrow morning, I’ll let you back in.”

So Sylvain reluctantly left the infirmary and followed Manuela’s orders—he bathed, put on clothes that weren’t torn and covered in blood, and grime; and ate as much as he could stomach when it all tasted like dirt and iron. He _did_ try to sleep, but it only amounted to him staring at the ceiling, vision and thoughts turning to static as the moonlight gradually shifted across the room. 

But it was worth it when Manuela let him in the next morning. She did insist on giving him a once-over, as she always did when students came back from battle, but it was quick and he was fine (save for a massive cluster of bruises) and he was _finally_ allowed to see Felix.

His friend was the same as the night before, except for his now-washed hair. Sylvain simply sat in the chair beside the bed and reached for Felix’s hand. His grip was gentle, almost hesitant, half expecting the swordsman to pull away even in his sleep. But Felix’s hand didn’t move, and Sylvain held on and relaxed while watching the deep, steady rise and fall of his chest. 

Sylvain managed to spend at least a few hours in the infirmary each day. He’d stop by in the morning to check Felix’s condition (“Still asleep and still recovering, same as last night,” Manuela always said), after class he would sit beside Felix’s bed while he did his homework (“I really hope the Professor doesn’t make you do this essay when you wake up. You’re going to _hate_ the Reason reading.”). And, when he had nothing else to do, he would sit beside Felix’s bed and hold his hand while he slept. Sylvain would start talking about whatever came to mind, wondering if Felix could hear him, and other times he would just sit in silence. Manuela would kick him out around sunset, and Sylvain would be back again the next morning.

During those days, Felix would wake up for a few minutes at a time. He was mostly unaware during those times, but Sylvain or Manuela were able to coax some soup into him before he drifted off again. Sylvain suspected there was more sleeping draught in the food, but he never brought it up. As much as he wanted to see Felix awake again, he didn’t want him to agitate his wound because he tried to do too much too soon.

It was nine days after the mission, when Felix’s wound had stopped its on-and-off bleeding and the color had returned to his face, that he finally woke up.

Felix’s consciousness drifted back in bits and pieces. He grasped weakly at the sound of voices, vague touches, the feeling of movement, before his dreams bled in again. Dark, fast, confusing, the only clear thing was the feeling of _fear, fear, fear,_ and pain, and bright flashes of red in a dozen different shades. 

Was he awake or asleep? There was a solid warmth around his hand. It seemed real to him, and he focused on it, slowly becoming aware of the rest of his body. He cracked his eyes open, the world around him coming back in blurred shapes and colors. He saw red and felt something twinge in his chest. Red… red…

 _Sylvain_!

Felix jerked upright with a gasp. The movement sent fire running across his torso, turning the gasp into a high-pitched yelp. He tried to wrap his arms around himself, but moving his left sent more fire scorching and he left it limp at his side. 

Something firm and warm clamped down on his shoulder.

“Hey! Hey, Felix, it’s okay. Hey, we’re back at the Monastery, you’re in the infirmary, it’s okay you’re okay.”

It took another moment for Felix’s panicked mind to process the sights and sounds. He was in a bed. The room around him was dim, but the deep light of sunset bled in from the windows. Beside him was Sylvain— _Sylvain!—_ one hand resting on Felix’s good shoulder and his face tight with worry. 

“I—we’re… we’re back at th—back at the Monastery?” Felix asked.

“Yeah, yeah, we got back a while ago. Here, lie back down, okay? You don’t want to reinjure yourself.”

Felix allowed Sylvain to push him back to the bed. The redhead arranged the pillows so the other could sit up a little and pulled the blanket back up to his chin. He held out a glass of water once Felix had settled. “Here, you’re probably really thirsty. Go slow though.”

Felix tentatively took a sip and had to stop himself from chugging it when he realized just how thirsty he was. He handed Sylvain the empty cup and the latter placed it on the nightstand. 

“How are you feeling?” Sylvain asked.

“Terrible,” Felix groaned. “My whole body hurts.”

Sylvain chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Not surprising. You took a… a pretty nasty blow. Do you remember what happened?”

“We… we were going… we were at Conand Tower. We were… we had almost reached—”

_They were separated. Where the hell was Sylvain? Felix couldn’t find him. Sylvain was six-one, on a horse, and had bright red hair—how the hell did Felix manage to lose him?_

_Red, red—red! He saw red, but his excitement swung right to intense, blood-boiling rage when he realized it wasn’t the redhead he was searching for._

_A horse cried out somewhere. A shout—Felix knew that voice—then the eardrum-shattering sound of armor smashing against the stone. The other person Felix spotted heard the noise as well, and he knew the voice too, and both men moved at the same time._

_Felix was going to kill Miklan, just like he’d wanted to for years. He was going to protect Sylvain. The low-life scum of the Earth his friend was forced to call “brother” was never going to hurt him again. Never even going to_ look _at him again. Felix was going to tear the bastard apart. He wished he’d brought his gauntlets so he could literally punch Miklan’s smug, disgusting face in._

_But he forgot that he was facing a Hero’s Relic, incredibly powerful even when wielded by someone without the matching Crest. He misjudged the force needed, the strength coming at him. His hands were empty and steel clattered to the stone and red and gold swung down and pain, pain, pain._

_Red and gold coming down at him. Felix couldn’t move—he knew he had to he had to he had to_ move _but the world around him was already going dark and the mere_ thought _of moving hurt so bad—_

_There was black and red above him instead of red and gold. The harsh sound of something grating against metal, heavy breathing._

_“Don’t. You._ Dare. _Touch him.”_

Felix’s anger came flooding back. “I can’t believe I let that bastard get the better of me.”

“What did you expect, jumping in front of him like that?” Sylvain said, traces of panic bleeding into his voice. “Aren’t you the one always yelling at me for doing that?”

“I wasn’t _trying_ to get killed,” Felix snapped. “I was planning to run him through like the rabid creature he is.”

“Was,” Sylvain said. He tensed like he hadn’t meant to say that. 

“He’s dead?”

Sylvain nodded.

“Good.”

Felix didn’t miss Sylvain’s wince.

“What?” Felix asked.

“Hm?”

“I saw that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sylvain,” Felix snapped. “Don’t lie to me, I know you.”

“It’s… it’s nothing. It’s—it _is_ good. That he’s. Dead. That he’s dead. That’s good.”

Felix raised an eyebrow.

There was a pause, then Sylvain let out a heavy sigh.

“There was… some weird stuff happened after you went down. Some… some _horrifying_ stuff.”

“W—”

“I’ll tell you later,” Sylvain cut him off. “If I don’t, ask anyone else who went on the mission. But like, don’t tell anyone else though. The… the Church doesn’t really want people to know, I guess?”

Felix wasn’t awake enough to dissect all that. “Okay.” 

He glanced down at himself, remembering that he hadn’t actually _seen_ his injury yet. “How bad was it?”

Sylvain paused for a moment. “Uh… so you’ve gutted animals when hunting, right?” He nodded. “Yeah. That.”

“That bad, huh?” He shrugged off the blanket, allowing the fabric to pool at his waist. 

His entire torso was wrapped in bandages. Starting from his left shoulder, wrapped snug around him from the top of his pecs down to his waist. He could see a rough line of dried red-brown blood along them, tracing all the way from his wrapped shoulder to his right hip. 

_Sylvain wasn’t kidding._ “Oh.”

“ _Yeah._ ” Sylvain’s voice was high and strained. “How are you so—Felix h—how are you so _calm_ about this?”

Felix frowned at him. “What? I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“ _You almost weren’t,_ ” Sylvain snapped. “Do you have any idea how long you’ve been here?”

Felix’s brow furrowed as he thought, and Sylvain interrupted before he could guess. “It’s been nine days, Felix, since we got you back to the Monastery. The rest of the class only got back just under a week ago.”

“ _Nine days_?”

“Felix, when I said he gutted you, I mean he—he _gutted you._ I—you—I…” Sylvain paused and took a deep breath to steady himself. His voice was soft when he continued. “We thought you were going to die, Felix. It’s… it’s pretty much a miracle that you didn’t.”

A cold feeling washed over him. “That bad, huh?” He said, his voice growing soft as well.

“Yeah,” Sylvain said, nodding. “Yeah it… it was bad, Felix, _really_ bad. Annette and Mercedes had to leave the end of the battle just to keep you from bleeding out. The Professor put you in the supply cart and had a couple of us ride ahead with you, because there was no way you would have made it if we had waited.”

A pause. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Felix.” He almost didn’t hear Sylvain whisper his name.

“Yeah?”

“Please… promise me you’ll never do anything like that again. You’re… you’re always yelling at me for pulling stupid stunts. But—but you, you jumped in front of a _Hero’s Relic._ You took a blow from the _Lance of Ruin,_ and you don’t wear even half the armor I do. It… it really, really is a miracle you survived. There… there was so much _blood,_ Fe. I just—” He let out a frustrated sigh. “ _Please,_ don’t ever scare us like that again. Don’t scare me like that. Aren’t you the one always going on about how you can’t protect people if you die for them?”

Felix gave his own sigh. “I’ll admit, perhaps that wasn’t my best idea, but I don’t regret it. I’m alive. If that strike had been able to make contact with you, you wouldn’t be. But… I digress. I will try to be more careful.” A pause. “And… I’ll make sure I sleep well before a battle.” 

The corner of Sylvain’s lip quirked up in a small smile. “I just don’t want to see you hurt again.”

“You have to be careful too,” Felix said. “And take your training more seriously.”

Sylvain sighed and rolled his eyes, but his smile remained. “It’s always training with you, isn’t it? But alright, once you’re cleared I’ll hit the training grounds with you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you! I hope you enjoyed reading. If you did, please leave kudos and comments!


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